


Against the Dying of the Light

by Lotusflower85



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotusflower85/pseuds/Lotusflower85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guinevere is widowed, pregnant and struggling to rule Camelot alone. But she gets by with a little help from her friends.  A series of vignettes in the reign of Queen Gwen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Against the Dying of the Light

 

_Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray._  
 _Do not go gentle into that good night._  
 _Rage, rage against the dying of the ligh_ t.

 

 - Do not go gentle into that good night, Dylan Thomas

 

* * *

 

 

Guinevere stared at the royal seal in her hand – her final bequest from Arthur. She could not deny it any longer, for the throne beside her was empty and would remain so. And yet she could not collapse with grief, could not scream and cry and rally against her world ending, for the entire kingdom needed them to be strong for her. She had to be a queen – she was no longer just Arthur’s wife, she was not acting as his advisor or another voice at the Round Table. Nor was she simply acting as a steward while he was away from Camelot. Gwen was now a ruling queen, solely responsible for the lives of her knights and each and every one of her subjects. And she could not let them see her cry, for they needed strength, surety, and trust that she would continue her husband’s legacy; that their lives would continue as they had before. They could not see her falter.

 

Guinevere nodded at Leon and he, with a great sadness, spoke the words she was dreading.

 

“The King is dead,” he proclaimed to the assembled congress. “Long live the Queen!”

 

Percival stood at the front of the crowd, and repeated the last words softly. It was he who had brought her the grim news of Gwaine’s death, and that Morgana had discovered Arthur and Merlin’s destination. The rest of the knights stood behind him, and called out the refrain in unison. But she did not know them well; they were not her close friends like Leon and Percival, the only two of Arthur’s inner circle who remained. Her dear Elyan was slain, and Gwaine’s body, which Percival had brought back to Camelot, was being prepared for his funeral at that very moment. And of course Lancelot was long gone. She had loved each of those men deeply, albeit in very different ways, and they would all be kept dear in her heart.

 

And yet all of her heart was with Arthur – she had told him that when he’d asked her to marry him, and it had been those words which had broken the spell Morgana had held over her. She had only wanted to be _his_ queen, not Camelot’s, and now she was faced with a world without him, where his people were in her keeping. She felt their expectation, even as they honoured her, and the responsibility was a further weight on her lonely, crushed heart.  

 

Finally, when duty was done, Gwen was able to escape to her chambers. She dismissed all of her servants; she couldn’t bear their sympathy. Alone, she entered her rooms but did not find them empty. Her heart sank to see Merlin seated at the table. He did not look at her when she entered, but had obviously been waiting for her, and Gwen knew she would not yet find her solace.

 

It had been Merlin who had returned to tell her of Arthur’s death. Without his confirmation, she never would have accepted it, never would have given up. But Merlin had given her solemn tidings of Arthur’s passing, an apology and the gift of Arthur’s rings. He hadn’t seemed in a fit state to divulge anything else, and Gwen had convened the council immediately. From the looks of him, Merlin hadn’t left his place at the table since that time. But he did not acknowledge her entrance, and Gwen took a few moments for herself.

 

Her chambers seemed so empty without Arthur, large and cold. Gwen walked over to the bedchamber, to the dresser by her side of the bed. Arthur’s rings rested there, where she had left them. Gwen twisted her own betrothal ring around her index finger and fought back the bile that rose in her throat, because this had always been _his_ room. She had once tended to its keeping as a servant before she had ever come to it as Arthur’s wife – and a mere three years it had been her home. It would never feel right without him.

 

She ran her fingers over the bedspread, and her heart ached with the knowledge that she would never again share it with her husband. Never again would she wake with his warmth at her back or his kiss on her neck; never again would they share night-time confidences, or a passionate embrace. Gwen wanted nothing more than to pull on one of his shirts – one that still carried his scent – crawl into that bed and weep until the pain had left her. Although she wasn’t sure it ever would.

 

But still, her own grief would have to wait. Guinevere sighed and turned around to see Merlin still at the table, unmoved. She folded her hands in front of her and tried to speak as calmly as possible.

 

“What happened, Merlin?” she asked, surprised at how steady her voice was.

 

Merlin shook his head and was silent for several moments. When he looked up it was not at her but at the other side of the table, at Arthur’s empty chair, andthere were fresh tears in his red-rimmed eyes.

 

“We were too late,” he said, his breath falling on the last word. “Morgana found us, and we lost the horses… I killed her,” he added with a whisper.

 

Gwen closed her eyes, unsure of how to feel about the information. Relief, in the foremost, that Morgana would no longer pose a danger to Camelot or herself. Bitterness, that her death had not made a difference, and Arthur had been taken from her anyway. And, despite herself, pity. For she had dearly loved Morgana once, had thought of her like a sister; looked up to her and admired her beauty, her bearing, her compassion for those who had been wronged, and the kindness and love she had once shown to Gwen herself. In spite of every hurtful and despicable thing Morgana had done to her since then, Gwen couldn’t help but feel saddened by the thought of her former mistress, driven insane with hatred and anger, dying alone in the woods.    

 

“And Arthur?” she asked, putting thoughts of Morgana’s fate aside to be dwelt and grieved upon later.

 

Merlin’s lower lip trembled, and he drew a hitched breath. “Arthur’s wounds were too great,” he told her. “We didn’t make it to Avalon in time. He…” Merlin trailed off, and Gwen held up a hand so that he didn’t need to continue. She had thought she wanted to hear details, but had been wrong – she couldn’t hear about the moment of her husband’s death, for if she did she would break. It was several long moments before she trusted herself to speak further.

 

“So even with all your magic,” she said, unable to keep a note of accusation from her tone. “You couldn’t save him.”

 

Merlin looked at her properly for the first time since she entered the room, and their eyes met.

 

“You know?” He seemed surprised, and yet his reaction was dulled. Once, the thought of her finding out about his secret must have caused him concern, but now he seemed beyond caring.

 

Gwen nodded slowly. “I’ve always known there was something special about you, Merlin,” she told him softly. Ever since she’d seen him that day in the square, talking back to Arthur like no one else ever had, Gwen had known that Merlin was different. And every danger that had come Arthur’s way, Merlin had been there, in the background, as everything had seemed to work out - often miraculously. “I’m ashamed how long it took me to put the pieces together,” she continued, remembering the times she had dismissed his suspicious behaviour as mere quirks, and attributed his tendency to have the answer at convenient moments to coincidence. “But you kept your secret well,” she added with a note of bitterness.

 

It was hard to read Merlin’s expression – in many ways he looked as she felt, with all emotion wrung from him - empty. He did not look at her.

 

“You’re angry at me.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

 

“Do you blame me?” she asked, her voice cracking with emotion, and began to pace the room with agitation. “It’s not that you have magic, Merlin, I don’t care about that,” she told him emphatically, stopping at the table and resting her hands on the back of an empty chair. “It’s that you’ve lied to me every day, for years – since the day we met,” she added accusingly.  

 

He looked down and away, and it was clear that whilst he felt guilty for it, he would not apologise for it. She sighed heavily, berating herself inwardly for her rise in temper – she promised herself that she would not give in to it.

 

“I understand why you did it,” she continued in a calmer voice, and that was the truth. The times that she had been held in suspicion of using magic, thrown in the dungeons or almost burnt at the stake made her understand, perhaps more than anyone else, the dangers Merlin had faced. “But it still hurts to know I never had your trust. That I never really knew you.”

 

Merlin bowed his head and was silent for several moments. He looked up again and swallowed heavily, but she cut him off before he could speak.

 

“And when I did figure it out,” she continued not wishing to be side-tracked by explanations or denials. “I was so relieved. Because I thought, surely, you would save him as you must have done so many times before.” That was what had shocked her the most – not that Merlin had magic, but that this time it had not helped. He was a powerful sorcerer who could change his appearance, who could make lightning rain from the sky and vanquish armies, and yet Arthur was dead. Magic had killed him, and yet it had not saved him.  

 

“I know,” Merlin spoke, finally, his voice raw. “I failed Arthur, and you, and everyone else in Camelot. I would have done anything to save him, but I couldn’t. I tried.”

 

Gwen, moved by his overwhelming guilt, took a seat beside him and placed a hand over his, clenched on the table. “I’m sorry,” she told him softly. “I didn’t mean to imply that it was your fault. It’s not,” she continued, trying to comfort him. As upset as she was with him for lying to her, she could never blame him for what had happened.  

 

He looked up at her, eyes bright and cheeks wet with tears. “Yes it is,” he said firmly. “When I first came to Camelot, I was told of a prophesy,” he began intently. “That Arthur would unite the five kingdoms, that magic would once again be allowed in Camelot, that he would bring peace and prosperity to all of Albion.” He shook his head and Gwen felt his fist clench tighter. “But everything I have done to try and make sure that happened only seemed to ensure that it wouldn’t. I could have helped Morgana before she turned to evil, but I was too afraid for my own secret. I tried to stop Mordred from betraying Arthur, but in doing so I gave him a reason to turn against him. I could have tried to influence Arthur to accept magic, but didn’t because I feared for his life. And he died anyway.”

 

It was too much information to process, as Gwen realised that Merlin had been living with a burden greater than simply his magic, greater than she could comprehend at this moment. So she squeezed his hand in reassurance, unable to offer much more. Gwen knew nothing about such things, so she could not alleviate his guilt, as much as she wanted to.  

 

“Where is he?” she asked after a long silence. Merlin had not brought Arthur’s body back to Camelot. “I will send the knights to bring him home.”

 

“They cannot,” he told her. “Arthur is resting in Avalon. Safe.” This seemed to comfort him, and he wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his tunic.

 

“Oh.” Gwen withdrew her hand, a lance of hurt piercing through her. Not only had Merlin been with Arthur in his final moments, but he had not even planned to bring his body back to her. Her husband should be interred with the former kings of Camelot, like his father had. Where she could visit him.

 

Gwen suddenly felt very tired, and she didn’t want to hear Merlin’s reasons, although she was sure he had them. She stood and walked away, her feet almost of their own accord leading her to the cabinet opposite her and Arthur’s bed. She opened the door to reveal several of Arthur’s white shirts, waiting for an owner who would never return. She fingered the sleeve of one, the material soft and well-worn between her fingers. She couldn’t help but feel a sliver of resentment towards Merlin, who had kept so much from her over the years, and who had now kept her from seeing her husband one last time. Arthur would always be in the realm of magic, separated from her, and all she would have to remember him by were some rings, some shirts, and an empty throne. Merlin had not even brought Arthur’s sword back to her.  

 

In her peripheral vision she saw Merlin stand, and was relieved that she would finally be alone. But Merlin did not leave, and instead took several steps towards her.

 

“There’s something different about you, Gwen,” he told her, and for the first time his voice seemed strong, more like the Merlin she had always known.

 

“I am…upset, Merlin,” she said, wishing more than ever that he would just leave her to her grief. The struggle to remain stoic was taking its toll, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.

 

“I know,” he continued. “But it is not that.” He closed the distance between them, resting his hand on her shoulders and turning him fully towards her.

 

“Merlin, please,” she said tiredly. “I really just want to be alone.”

 

But Merlin ignored her, studying her intently. “Is it possible…” he began, before hesitating for several moments. “That you are with child?”

 

Gwen looked away with shame and anger. Why would he say such a hurtful thing to her _now_ , of all times? Now when there was not even hope to cling to?

 

“You know that it is not,” she replied shortly. It was something they’d never spoken of, at least out loud. Gwen knew that it was often talked about beyond her or Arthur’s earshot, that after three years of marriage she had not yet produced an heir to the kingdom. She felt that failure painfully, although Arthur had never once brought up the subject, had never pressured her to take remedies or seek advice from Gaius to aid in conception. She knew it was because he loved her so dearly, and took great pains to avoid any insinuation that she may be wanting as a wife or queen. And for Arthur, childbirth meant the risk of death, carried the fear or losing her as he had lost his mother. So Gwen kept the yearning locked away in her heart, in the hope that one day, they would be blessed. A hope that was now lost.

 

“I am serious, Gwen,” Merlin said, seemingly ignoring her distress. “I sense something different about you.”

 

“With your magic?” she asked sceptically as she brushed off his hold and walked away.

 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he told her. “It’s never really worked this way before.”

 

Gwen turned back to face him unhappily, leaning against the bedpost for she did not feel the strength to stand unaided any longer. Merlin, by contrast, had become much more animated, and so she felt it was only right to let him say what he felt he needed to.

 

“Before the battle, I went to a place of great magic,” he continued following her nod of assent to do so. “To the birthplace of magic itself. And ever since then, I have _felt_ everything so much more clearly.” Merlin glanced around, and Gwen noticed a faraway look in his eyes, almost replacing the grief and pain he had radiated earlier. “I can feel everything around me,” he continued, and she was struck by the nobility of his bearing, the confidence that she had seen in the sorcerer on the hillside of Camlann. “Every presence, every lifeforce, the earth and the stars and all that is in between,” Merlin spoke softly, reverently, before turning his gaze back to her. “And I sense Arthur within you, Gwen,” he told her intently.

 

She pressed a palm to her belly, but felt nothing, not a quickening, not any change to her body at all. But it was likely that she would not, if in the very early stages. “But why?” she asked, more distressed than anything else. “If this is true, why now?”

 

Merlin seemed to consider this. “In the old religion,” he said finally. “The world is one of balance. To save a life, a life must be taken. Or to create a life,” he added. “That is how Arthur was conceived, through the power of the magic.”

 

“That is cruel,” she managed to say; inwardly cursing magic, cursing the old religion and all the loved ones it had taken from her. “I made no such bargain, I would never do so.” As much as she had wanted a child, she would not trade anyone’s life in such a way, let alone her husband’s.

 

“I know,” Merlin nodded emphatically. “But Arthur was born of magic – anointed by it to save the Pendragon line. And what if this new life,” he gestured towards at her abdomen, “could only be once he was gone?”

 

“Are you speaking of that prophesy?” she asked wearily, tired of hearing about magic, about life and death and fate. “I thought you said it hadn’t worked out for you.”  

 

“Maybe…” his gaze dropped for a few moments, before he lifted his eyes to hers and smiling for the first time. “Maybe I still believe in destiny. In hope,” he told her. “I always _felt_ that it was Arthur’s fate to marry you, Gwen, but I never knew why. I thought it was so you could help him become the king he was born to be…” he smiled again with realisation, and held her gaze. “But it was for you as well. So you could become Queen. So you could continue Arthur’s legacy to unite Albion.”

 

“And allow magic back into Camelot?” she asked him pointedly, remembering the rest of the prophesy he had spoken of. “How can I do that?” she continued, walking away from him and back into the antechamber. “How can I permit its practice when it has been used to perform so much evil?” She began pacing again, pressing a hand to her temple and trying to think clearly. The greed of sorcerers had robbed her of her father. Morgana had been corrupted by hate and anger, and used magic to fuel her revenge. Lancelot had sacrificed himself to the veil, had been brought back by dark magic in a corruption of everything he had stood for. She had been enchanted into betraying Arthur in the Dark Tower, had been locked away inside her own mind and watched her body commit acts of treason against her husband and king.

 

And yet she knew that Merlin must have saved her life, the lives of the knights, and the kingdom a dozen times over because of his magic. It had been magic that had purified her of the curse of the mandrake, and it had been Merlin’s sorcery that had saved them at Camlann. It seemed that sorcery, and Merlin, had been a great advantage to the kingdom.  

 

“But how could I keep magic outlawed and allow you to stay in Camelot?” she continued out loud, aghast at the dilemma. “I cannot expect the people to meet standards that you and I do not.” She looked over at Merlin, and he tilted his chin at her but said nothing. He was letting her make the choice, and Gwen turned away from him again, trying to clear her head.

 

Tradition had always been important to Arthur, and the stability of the kingdom even more so. That was why he had maintained the ban on magic even when he had, on rare occasions, been forced to make use of it himself. Gwen knew she should honour that decision, particularly given that Morgana and Mordred had been defeated. But if she did, her own honour and honesty would not allow her to make use of magic under any circumstances, to prove that as queen she was not above the law. And she believed she knew Merlin well enough that he would never be happy if he was prevented from using magic – he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

 

“But how can I send you away?” she asked, turning back to him desperately, voice quavering with emotion. “How could I ask that of you?” She remembered the old days, when they had both still been servants, and the good times they had shared together. Those had been days filled with laughter, of quiet confidences over meals, of knowing looks and shared smiles over the behaviour of those at court. They had been a team, once, they had worked together to discover plots against the kingdom, to save Arthur. And whilst their relationship had been somewhat altered since she had become queen, she still loved him dearly, and depended on his good advice and comforting presence.

 

Gwen found herself remembering that she trusted Merlin more than anyone, despite the secrets that he had kept from her, and she knew that everything he had done had been to serve Camelot and Arthur. But separate from that, he had always been a friend to her, had always been there when she needed him. She did know him, she realised, for he was clever and funny, and insightful – brazen when he knew he was right – endearingly scatty when it suited him, but serious and thoughtful when it was required. His being a sorcerer was simply another facet of the man she already knew and loved.   

 

If Merlin had magic, she decided, than magic could not be so bad.  

 

“Merlin,” she told him, the weight of her loneliness and responsibility overwhelmed her, and she finally let her tears fall. “I cannot lose you as well.” Her hands dropped to her sides in defeat, and in moments, Merlin had crossed the room to embrace her tightly. Gwen allowed herself to cry in Merlin’s arms, to finally let go of let the sorrow overtake her. She needed Merlin to stay with her, help her, but to do that she would have to allow magic back into Camelot. How she was going to manage to convince the knights and persuade the kingdom as to the wisdom of that choice she had no idea. More than ever, she wished Arthur was with her, so that they could make the decision and decide on the best course of action together. He had not simply been her husband and she his wife, they had not just been lovers; they had truly been partners in every aspect and losing him was like losing half of herself.  

 

“I’m so afraid, Merlin,” she sobbed into his shoulder, unable to deny it any longer. “Afraid I cannot go on without him.” That was what she feared the most – that the loneliness and sorrow would eat away at her, as it had done in the Dark Tower. Morgana has known then her greatest fears, had known how to break her by making her believe she had been abandoned, that she was alone. That was what had allowed the mandrake to take hold of her soul and Gwen feared a return to that state of emptiness and isolation more than anything else.  

 

But Merlin held her close and stroked her hair, and she held onto him desperately, her tears soaking the material of his tunic. He soothed her gently, and she was grateful to let someone else be strong for a while, to allow herself to feel everything that she had been denying ever since Arthur had been lost at Camlann.

 

“Yes you can,” Merlin whispered to her finally. “We all must.” He drew back, cupping her face in his hands and looking directly into her eyes. “You will be a great queen, Gwen, I know it. You _are_ a great queen” he told her intently. “The whole kingdom knows it. They believe in you – they trust you.”

 

His reassurance was like a balm to her battered heart. Gwen thought that she would be alone without Arthur, and whilst she was certain no one could ever replace him, that her soul would always call out for him, she understood that she would not be without friends. She would have Merlin and Gaius. She would have Leon and Percival and the other knights. And, if she allowed herself the hope of believing Merlin’s words, she would have a child – a living part of Arthur to love and protect – to raise in the world Arthur had built for them.

 

“Will you help me?” she asked, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes.

 

“Of course,” he smiled reassuringly. “Of course I will.”

 

“I mean, with your magic as well,” she clarified.

 

Merlin closed his eyes for several moments, and when he reopened them he was visibly moved. Gwen imagined he had been waiting years for such an invitation.

 

“Yes,” he nodded, and smiled with true happiness. “Yes, absolutely.”

 

“But no more secrets, Merlin, no more lies.” That was her condition.

 

His smile faded and his expression became solemn once more, as if remembering something. “Arthur knew, at the end,” he divulged. “About my magic.”

 

Gwen took his hand and clasped it gently. “I’m glad.” It gave her comfort to know that Arthur had known the truth about Merlin, at the end. She just hoped he hadn’t been too hard on him. “What did he say?” she asked cautiously.

Merlin’s expression was guarded, and he bit his lip. Gwen knew he probably would never tell her everything of Arthur’s last days, but she did not begrudge him that, since there were also things she and Arthur had shared she would never want to tell another living soul about, either.

 

“He…” Merlin began after a long pause. “He thanked me,” he continued, voice thick with emotion. “He said that…I should always be me.”  

 

Gwen smiled and squeezed his hand gently. “That is what I want as well.” That was all she ever wanted of anyone, and all she wanted to be herself.

 

“Thank you, Gwen,” Merlin, and embraced her again briefly, and with a sense of relief. “I will leave you now,” he told her, pulling away and heading towards the door. “But I will come back tomorrow,” he added. “I’ll always come back.”

 

His words kindled her heart and helped drive away her fears of abandonment, of losing those she loved. Gwen believed his words, and knew that henceforth he would only speak the truth to her, that she could rely on him. That he loved her, as he had loved Arthur.    

 

“It’s funny, isn’t it Merlin,” he called out to his retreating back, and he paused in the door way and turned to her. “The two of us, mere servants, ruling Camelot and bringing magic back to it,” she smiled grimly. “Can you imagine what Uther would have thought of that?”

 

She didn’t hate Uther – one could not care for someone the way she had the last year of his life and hold onto hatred. She did hate everything Uther represented, hated the hold he’d had over Arthur, the man he’d tried to make Arthur become. Now, here she was, in charge of his entire kingdom, appointing a sorcerer as her foremost advisor. It was her final victory over him, she supposed, although it did not feel that way.  

 

“I don’t think it matter what Uther would have thought,” Merlin said resolutely. “Only what Arthur would have thought. Or thinks,” he added. “My father told me that there are no goodbyes in this life, not truly.”

 

The thought gave her a sense of relief, and she smiled as Merlin left the chambers. But not alone, she realised, considering Merlin’s last words. Gwen went to the bed and lay upon it, not bothering to remove her jewellery or dress. She reached out to Arthur’s side of the bed, and whilst the sheets were cold and empty, she felt that Merlin was right. Arthur was with her, for he was alive in her memory, and perhaps waiting for her in the next life. Gwen’s pressed her hand to her belly once more, and this time, she felt the warmth of hope reach back to her and knew Merlin had been right.  

 

Arthur would always be with her.


	2. The City Which is to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen changes the world by day, and misses Arthur by night.

_For we have not here an abiding city , but we seek after the city which is to come – Hebrews 13:14_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Guinevere took a deep breath to compose herself before entering the Great Hall. The knights of Camelot were already at their places at the Round Table, and they all rose as she entered, some even giving her respectful nods or slight bows as she walked to her place. It had been several weeks since the announcement of Arthur’s death, and there had been a period of mourning throughout the kingdom. Gwen had kept to her chambers as much as possible in her own private grief, but finally decided that it was time to call her council together.  

 

But she hesitated at the chair Arthur had once occupied, resting her hand lightly on the back of it. It would feel like usurpation to sit in it, she decided, an insult to her husband’s memory to take his seat without an appropriate passing of time. She did not yet feel like a monarch, like she was worthy to take Arthur’s place. She felt far more comfortable to think of herself as a steward or regent, occupying the throne until her child was born and a Pendragon heir would inherit such an honour.

 

So Gwen took her usual place to the immediate left of Arthur’s chair and gestured for the knights to be seated. She felt Gaius’ gaze upon her from a few places down and when she turned her head she wasn’t sure if it was pity or disappointment in his eyes. But then she saw Leon nod at her reassuringly and knew that in his opinion at least, she had made the right choice. These were Arthur’s knights, his chosen brethren and she needed their loyalty and support – and for that Arthur’s memory must be honoured in public as it was honoured in her heart.   

 

“Thank you all,” she addressed them with a confidence that surprised herself. “This has been a difficult time for us all, and I will do my best to carry on in my husband’s stead. Of course I will need your help to do this and it is my greatest hope that together, we can continue to protect his great kingdom and her people as Arthur would have wanted.”

 

It was an impassioned plea for their cooperation as much as a greeting, and Gwen was relieved to see that her words appeared to be well received. They moved onto council matters where Gwen felt more comfortable, and Sir Lionel gave reports of the retreating Saxons, who now had been completely driven from the kingdom, Sir Owain discussed the mood of the populace and thankfully advised that there appeared no opposition to Guinevere taking the throne, and Percival confirmed the news of Morgana’s death and the retreat of the druids back into hiding.

 

During the reports, however, Gwen couldn’t forget that there were several empty places at the Round Table.

 

“We need new knights,” she decreed, raising the next point of business. “Sir Leon, I trust that you can see to this,” she addressed him.

 

Leon nodded. “Of course my Lady,” he agreed, as she knew he would, given that they had discussed the agenda for the meeting beforehand.

 

“But make sure they are tested to the standard they always have been,” she cautioned. “It will not do to elevate to knighthood men who are not yet ready, simply to swell our ranks.”

 

Leon nodded again. “I know of several men who distinguished themselves at Camlann,” he told her. “But I will ensure they are put through the appropriate tests and training.”

 

“Thank you.” Gwen took a deep breath, not looking forward to her next item, because it was something that would alter Camelot far more than the inclusion of commonly-born knights or the introduction of the Round Table.

 

“I have made a decision,” she told them, looking around the table at each one of her knights and advisors. Some, like Gaius, Leon and Percival, were her dear friends. Others she knew quite well but was not close to, and a few she knew by name only. “One that will change everything, and because of this I first seek your advice and approval.”  

 

Leon looked at her quizzically – she had not discussed the matter with him first, as she had the previous matters the council had deliberated on. Gwen looked to Gaius for reassurance, and he gave her a slight smile and a nod – at least she could count on his support. But Gwen knew that she would need the cooperation of all of the knights if she was to succeed.    

 

“You can send him in now,” Gwen addressed the guard at the door, who nodded and disappeared into the hallway. Gwen took another deep breath, turned back to the table and then started the speech she had spent all night practicing.

 

“As all of you remember, we were suffering heavy losses at Camlann, and that victory was far from certain. And that in what seemed to be our darkest hour, a miracle occurred.” She spoke slowly, and shifted her gaze from knight to knight, intent that they should head everything she had to say. “Lightening rained down from the sky,” she continued, “a force which seemed to hit only our enemy, and was so precise that not a man of Camelot was lost to it. The white dragon which Morgana had summoned was driven away, and the day was won. This was the work of a sorcerer – some of you may have seen him, on the ridge, casting the lightening down, defeating Morgana and repelling the dragon with a single word.”

 

“But why, you must have thought, as I did,” she pressed on, ignoring the puzzled or suspicious faces surrounding her. “Why would a sorcerer fight for Camelot, against his magical kin? Why would he help a kingdom in which such acts of sorcery were outlawed? And I tell you the reason is that this sorcerer loves Camelot as much as you or I, and that he is loyal to Arthur, to myself, and to _you_ , with his very soul”

 

Gwen glanced at the entrance to the hall and saw that the guard had reappeared and nodded to her. “Which is why I have invited him to join us,” she gestured to the doorway.

 

The reaction of the knights was immediate, as gasps, murmurs and cries of objection filled her ears. A few knights even rose from their seats, hands on the hilts of their swords. Everyone went silent, however, when Merlin appeared with a smile and a wave.

 

“Hello,” he greeted them genially, and Gwen wished she’d advised him to be a bit more serious. Strangely enough, she had simply assumed that such behaviour would be automatic, but it seemed he’d reverted back to that easy demeanour which seemed immune to criticism. Perhaps it was a conscious choice on his part, to disarm the knights and demonstrate that despite the fine new clothes and outing as a sorcerer, he was still the same man.

 

“Merlin?” Percival managed to be the first person to recover from the shock.

 

“The King’s manservant?” Sir Bedivere, one of the older knights who’d once served under Uther, asked with obvious befuddlement. “Is he going to fetch the sorcerer?”

 

Gwen supressed a smile. “Merlin _is_ the sorcerer.”    

 

“My lady, is this an amusement of some kind?” Leon addressed her quietly.

 

“This is no joke,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “I only discovered this myself recently, but Merlin has magic, and has used it ever since he arrived in Camelot. Not to subvert, or beguile, or cause nuisance,” she added quickly. “But to serve the King and protect the people of Camelot. He has saved all of our lives many times over. Not just at Camlann.”

 

Sir Ector snorted. “I find that hard to believe – that sorcerer was an old man!”

 

“Ah, yes, well,” Merlin began. “Long story, about crystals and Morgana and this magic-draining slug thing -”

 

“Merlin,” Gwen interrupted him gently, reminding him of their agreement that he would keep explanations simple, at least initially.

 

“Right, yes,” Merlin gave a nervous laugh. “Aging spell, then.”

 

“My Lady,” Sir Ector turned to her disdainfully, “are you honestly expecting us to believe that this _boy_ is a powerful sorcerer? And even if he is, his intentions cannot be honourable, he has surely bewitched you!”

 

Gwen bristled at the accusation, although she should have expected such a reaction. Very few of the knights knew of her enchantment under Morgana, so Ector could not have known how such words would cut her.

 

“Merlin perhaps you could provide us with a demonstration of your…abilities?” Leon asked, and Gwen shot him a grateful smile for the deflection as well as what was a reasonable suggestion.

 

“My pleasure,” Merlin replied. He started whispering what only could be an incantation, and then his eyes glowed orange for a split-second as he raised an outstretched palm towards them. The fire from the candles around the room leapt to the centre of the Round Table and began to dance as beautiful music filled the air. It was captivating and yet utterly benign magic, designed to fascinate but not threaten. Merlin lowered his voice, the chant trailing off as the small lights went back to their respective homes.

 

“I have not bewitched anyone,” Merlin told them clearly, radiating a confidence few of them had ever seen in him. “I have only ever used my abilities to serve Camelot, and have done since the day I arrived here.”    

 

Seeing that many of the knights were too shocked to say anything in reply, Gwen pressed on. “It is my wish that Merlin represent Camelot in an official capacity,” she told them. “That he take a seat at this table.”

 

“You would allow a sorcerer to sit beside the knights of Camelot?” Sir Bedivere spluttered.

 

“A sorcerer who has used his magic for the benefit of Camelot and will continue to do so, yes.” She took a deep breath. “And speaking of which, it is also my desire that we end the ban on magic.”

 

“My lady, this is going too far,” Sir Bedivere cried. “You are too young to remember the times before the Great Purge, if we allow magic back into Camelot it will be our ruin.”

 

“You are right, Sir Bedivere,” she addressed him calmly. “I do not remember that time. Because this is our time now. Things have changed, and I cannot accept that magic is inherently evil. It therefore makes no sense to ban it outright.”

 

“If I may,” Merlin spoke up, and Gwen nodded in assent. “I was born with magic,” he continued. “It is part of me and while I have spent many years hiding those abilities, I cannot deny them. To say to someone with magic that they cannot use it is like saying to someone they cannot use their strength,” he addressed Percival, “or their sword ,” he addressed Leon, “or their intellect,” he smiled at Gwen.

 

“Dark magic would still be outlawed,” Gwen put in. “Anyone using magic to harm others, or to enchant without a person’s consent, or to perform any magical act in breach of the common laws would still be punished. What I… _we_ are suggesting is that those with the ability should not be persecuted for the use of magic which is harmless.”

 

“No magic is harmless,” Sir Ector said harshly.

 

“We have just seen magic which is harmless,” Leon addressed him evenly, and Gwen could see that his words were chosen carefully. “Merlin has proved that he is a sorcerer with magic that has hurt no one. If he wanted to, he could kill us all here where we sit and take the throne of Camelot, but he has not. He fought against Morgana, and perhaps saved all of our lives.”

 

“I can vouch for Merlin,” Gaius, finally, spoke up. “He has great power, but instead of using it for personal gain, he chose to live as a servant for years to best protect the kingdom. He is the greatest friend and warrior Camelot has known.”

 

“There, you see,” Leon addressed Bedivere and Ector. “Would you dare doubt Gaius’ loyalty and judgement?”

 

“I suggest that it is the ban on magic which is harmful to the kingdom,” Gwen added, grateful for Leon’s support. “Arthur firmly believed that the Druids were a peaceful people, and I agree. Yet the ban on magic turned some of them against Camelot, made them vulnerable to Morgana’s war-mongering. If we are truly to unite this land, then we must be inclusive of all good, honest people because of, not in spite of the gifts they were born with.”

 

Percival, you had been silent up until that point, stood to draw their attention. “I have known Merlin many years,” he began. “He loved Arthur as much as the rest of us did, if not more. I have no doubt he is as loyal to Camelot and to the Queen as anyone could be.” He turned back to Gwen and nodded solemnly. “You have my support, my Lady, on both counts.”

 

Leon rose and nodded towards her as well. “And mine.”

 

Gaius rose next, followed one by one by the other knights. Ector and Bedivere shared a look.

 

“I think this is a mistake, my Lady,” Ector said, “but I have sworn an oath to you and will honour the decision of the council.”

 

Gwen fought back tears of relief and smiled broadly at them all. “I hope soon you will see that this is not a mistake, but appreciate your support in any case” she addressed Ector, and then turned her attention to Merlin. “Well, Merlin,” she told him, “if you will take your seat.”  

 

Merlin looked as if he was about to burst from pride and happiness, but managed to amble his way to take the seat to the immediate right of what had once been Arthur’s chair.

 

“I suggest we reconvene tomorrow to discuss how to best to announce the change in law,” Gwen told them when they had all retaken their seats. “I know today’s session has been long, but I beg your indulgence for one final announcement.” She glanced over at Merlin, and he nodded encouragingly. “Some of you may already suspect, if the rumour mill is still active, but let me confirm it,” she said quickly, wanting to moment to be over quickly. “I am with child.”

 

There was silence once again, and Gwen wasn’t sure how to judge the reaction of her knights. Some had indeed clearly suspected, others seemed shocked and others, confused. She rested her hand over her belly protectively.  

 

“My Lady, this is wonderful news,” Leon congratulated her after a pause.

 

“An heir for Camelot is indeed a blessing at such a time,” agreed Sir Ector, still eyeing Merlin suspiciously.

 

“Forgive me, may I ask how long?” Sir Owain asked, a question that no doubt many of them were asking themselves.

 

“Not long,” she confirmed, and saw a few of the knights exchange knowing looks. Her unorthodox presence at the camp in Camlann had been widely known. “And for that reason I would appreciate your discretion. I am only telling you now because I felt it right you should hear it from me.”

 

“My Lady, we should announce it immediately,” Bedivere disagreed. “The news will boost morale among the people.”

 

Gwen shook her head. “No. All going well, the kingdom will have an heir in eight months, but there is no telling if there may be…complications,” she added. “I ask you to keep this confidence as you would any other.”

 

“We will, rest assured my queen,” Leon said, placing emphasis on her title and giving the other knights a clear look that he would ensure they did so.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At night, she missed Arthur. During the day there was so much to keep her mind occupied, and in the evenings she often shared a meal with Merlin and Gaius, who kept her spirits high.   But at night she was alone in the large, silent bedchamber she’d once shared with her husband, where she most keenly felt his absence.

 

It had been difficult for her to adapt to sharing a bed and quarters with another, after the quiet comforts of her small home in the lower town. She discovered that the time when Arthur had stayed there had not been an isolated incident in terms of his snoring, and in the first few weeks of their marriage she found it difficult to sleep. She had been exhausted after the battle for Camelot, with their wedding and her coronation all happening in such a short space of time, and of course the increased intimacy of sharing the marriage bed. And yet, every time she thought she might drift off, she would hear the rough sound of his snore and find peace unwilling to come to her.

 

Of course, he’d noticed eventually.

 

_“You don’t have to stay here,” he told her, one night after, in desperation, she had been forced to wake him up. “Protocol dictates that the Queen has her own chambers.”_

_She propped her chin on his chest and looked up at him fondly. “I would rather stay with you and not sleep than sleep and be without you,” she told him, for she did not want to be isolated in an unfamiliar room without him. “I have been alone too long.”_

_He smiled down at her, his thumb gently drawing small circles over the small of her back. “As have I.”_

_“Have you?” She asked somewhat impudently. “Surely a crown prince of Camelot never had to worry about having an empty bed,” she teased. It was pure curiosity and a little bit of playfulness that made her say it – after all, he had known when he had lain with her on their wedding night that she had been a maid, but she had no such indication of his experience. And she wanted to know everything about her new husband._

_“Are you asking, my love,” he questioned with a lightness that matched her own, “how many women I have shared a bed with before you?”_

_“Yes,” Gwen answered with a reassuring smile. “I am no innocent, I know that there were others,” she told him. “I am just curious.”_

_Arthur smirked. “It is somewhat of an indelicate thing to ask.”_

_“Luckily I am lowly-born and not accustomed to courtly manners,” she prodded him in the chest playfully._

_His laughed softly, and then bit his lip in concentration, stroking her hair gently. “There were a few.”_

_This troubled her more than she had expected, although she had known that such an answer was likely. She even expected the answer to have been ‘many’ but whether he was sparing her feelings or speaking the truth, the thought of him being with other women, as he had been with her in the wonderful nights since their marriage, was difficult for her, and she immediately regretted asking._

_“But none since you,” Arthur added, sensing her discomfort. “Not since the day I first kissed you.” His hand cupped her jaw, his thumb drawing a gentle line along her cheekbone. “I told you once that I had never loved another – that is true.”_

_She was touched by his openness – as she had been that day in her home. But then she had not returned the sentiment, too frightened by the implications and the perceived impossibilities of their relationship at that point. She’d been troubled by the way kissing him in the tent had made her feel, knowing that she’d been falling ever so much deeper in love with him and approaching the point of no return._

_“I have only ever loved you, Arthur,” she told him softly, her heart full at being able to express the emotions she’d kept hidden then._

_“Really?” There was doubt and even a bit of hope in his voice. “Not even…” He seemingly could not bring himself to speak the name, but it was obvious his thoughts had fixed on Lancelot and her past indiscretion._

_Gwen rubbed his chest gently and looked up into his eyes. “I cared for him very much.  I respected his goodness,” she began, wanting to be honest. “I mourned him deeply, not only because I considered him a friend, but because he had died protecting you as I had asked. But I do not believe I ever_ loved _him – not like I love you.”_

_“Then, why…?”_

_They had never spoken of it, for he had forgiven her by taking her as his wife and queen, and yet she still wondered whether her slip would always cast a shadow over their marriage, if she would be forever atoning for it. She sat up and turned away from him, drawing her knees up to her chin and clutching them protectively against her chest._

_“I cannot give you a better answer now than I did then,” Gwen told him with distress at recalling that awful day when she had banished her from his sight. “During the year that he was here in Camelot, I felt nothing but friendship for him. And even when he returned, I was pleased and relieved to see him, but I was looking forward to our wedding.” She sighed softly, turning over the events in her mind as she had done many times in the past months, searching for an answer to her actions. “And then he came to see me…he said he only wanted to wish me well, to give me a gift.”_

_“A gift?” Arthur questioned her, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What was it?”_

_Gwen wished she’d never started the conversation, but knew it was too late to change the subject. “A bracelet – from the people who had saved him. He said it would bring me luck”_

_“I have never heard of such a charm, not among those people,” he told her, and she turned back to see his mouth in a firm line, deep in thought. “Was it only after he gave you the bracelet that you were…drawn to him?” he used her own words, the ones she’d spoken in flimsy explanation on the second-worst day of her life._

_Gwen shifted slightly, uncomfortably. She rose from the bed, unwilling to be so close from him and recall the details of her betrayal._

_“Guinevere, please tell me.” There was a note of pleading in his tone. “I need to hear it.”_

_She sighed and turned back to him, wrapping her arms around the bedpost and leaning against it for support, keeping the distance between them._

_“During the tournament, it was as if I could not think of anything else,” she told him shamefully. “I found myself in his tent, and I didn’t know how I got there. When I realised, I left, but I could not stop myself from agreeing to meet with him later.”_

_“Do you think…” Arthur took a deep breath, and Gwen could see that he was having difficulty. “Do you think you may have been influenced by magic?”_

_It had not occurred to her – she had always blamed her own weakness, her unresolved feelings of guilt and affection for Lancelot which had blinded her to what she was doing._

_“All I can say is that it felt like a daze,” Gwen told him, thinking back to her state of mind. “Like a dream…and he was the only thing that seemed real.” She looked up at Arthur again with shame and repentance, worried that he would shut her out again, that such words would be too painful for him to hear._

_But Arthur seemed to ponder them for several moments, and his expression was thoughtful rather than angry. “What happened to the bracelet?” he asked._

_Gwen thought about that for a few moments, remembering the despair and anger at that moment – the heaviness of the cold metal like a shackle on her wrist. “I threw it away – in the cell.” There was silence for several moments, and Gwen found herself hold her breath with trepidation._

_“Come here,” Arthur said eventually, reaching out his arms, and she went to him gratefully, crawling back into the bed beside him and into his embrace. “Tell me what this bracelet looked like,” he requested, rubbing her back comfortingly. “And then try and get some sleep – I’ll stay awake so you can.”_

_She complied, and then in arms feel into a relieved, blessedly uninterrupted sleep._

_Three days later, she was in their quarters, staring out the window into the courtyard. Arthur entered the room, and she heard him approach, but he kept his distance and she did not turn to face him. She feared that his quest had not been successful, and that her culpability in betraying him could not be denied._

_“We found the bracelet,” he said eventually, without betraying any emotion. “Apparently a prisoner took it from the dungeons and sold it, but we tracked it down.”_

_She turned around, and saw Arthur with the bracelet in his hand. He placed it on the table and she went over to it. Her hand hovered over it but she was afraid to pick it up. “That’s it,” she confirmed, feeling sick to her stomach. “And?”_

_His expression was grim. “I had Gaius examine it,” he told her. “He suspects it was enchanted with a powerful infatuation spell.”_

_Gwen let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She had never been so relieved to hear news of magic in her life. “So…”_

_“So Lancelot – or the thing impersonating Lancelot, as Gaius tell me – he gave you the bracelet to enchant you – to compromise you.” Arthur’s expression was one of barely-concealed anger, his mouth a firm line. “What you did was not of your own free will.”_

_Gwen let out a small sob of relief, and she pressed a hand against her mouth to contain it. She had not betrayed Arthur willingly as she had thought – it was magic to blame, not her own character._

_“If that thing weren’t already dead…” Arthur continued, but Gwen shook her head and took his face in her hands, one thumb stroking his cheek in an entreaty._

_“Do not be angry,” she told him earnestly. “There has been too much hurt caused because of this, we should not let it hurt us further.”_

_Arthur looked back at her and his rage melted into one of regret and contrition. He slowly fell to his knees before her and clutched at the material of her skirts around her waist. “Can you forgive me?” he asked desperately. “You were innocent and I banished you.” He pressed his cheek against her belly and held her tightly. Shocked by his display of emotion, Gwen placed her hands on his head in a comforting gesture and stroked his hair reassuringly._

_“I should have suspected that it was sorcery,” he continued with anguish. “I should have known you would never betray me like that, but I wouldn’t listen to you, to anyone. I was so angry at you, at myself for allowing myself to love you – for fearing that if I let you stay I wouldn’t be able to keep away from you, and the entire kingdom would see my weakness.”_

_She sank down to the floor with him and pressed two fingers to his lips. “What did you do that I did not believe I deserved?” she comforted him. “How could you suspect foul play when I myself did not?”_

_“All I could think about was the look you gave Lancelot when we rescued you from Hengist’s men,” Arthur confessed, clearly tormented. “I always feared that I had won you by default.”_

_Gwen’s hands moved to his shoulders, and she played absentmindedly with the neck of his shirt. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” she told him softly, and it pained her to see him troubled. It had been so long ago, she hadn’t realised that Arthur had harboured doubts about the strength of her love for him. And yet, if she recalled that time in Hengist’s capture, the jealous look Arthur had given them when Lancelot had taken her hand, his hurtful lie that he’d only come because of Morgana, his avoidance of her for many weeks after the fact – she probably should have realised._

 

_“I admit at that time I was confused.” She raised her head again to look him in the eye – he had finally been honest with her about his doubts, and knew he deserved the same in return. “I had known Lancelot only very briefly when he’d first come to Camelot,” she explained. “So when he appeared again, when I was lost and alone and thought death would soon come for me, he seemed everything I needed. And I knew that despite the…moment that you and I had shared, we could never be together. You told me that plainly enough, and I did not disagree.”_

_“Did he tell you he loved you?” Arthur asked, although it was clear it was costing him to do so. “Did he tell you what I should of but was too afraid to admit?”_

_“He told me…that he would save me,” she responded, reluctant but keeping to her vow to be honest. “That he would…die before he let any harm come to me,” she continued haltingly. “And I…kissed him and told him that my feelings for him would never fade.”_

_Arthur suddenly looked ill and glanced away. There was silence for several moments, and Gwen was unsure whether to continue. “Keep going,” he told her eventually, although he continued to look towards the wall rather than at her. “Tell me.”_

_“He was sacrificing his life for mine,” she tried to justify herself. “It seemed like the right thing to say to comfort him in that, but I cannot deny that in that moment I felt deeply for him. But it was fleeting, Arthur,” she continued passionately, cupping his face in her hands and gently turning him back towards her. “They were the feelings of a girl towards someone who was good and brave, and who had saved her just like in all the stories.” Gwen felt her eyes fill with tears. “But the love I have for you is deep, and abiding, and so much stronger than anything else I have ever felt,” she went on, her voice cracking slightly. “All it took was time for me to realise that. There was no choice to be made – it was always you, I just didn’t know it yet.”_

 

_She leaned forward and kissed him, pleased when he returned it fervour, his arms embracing her tightly as he pulled her body against his, heedless of the cold stone floor they were still kneeling on. Then he buried his head in her shoulder, fingers tangling in her hair and she cradled his head, stroking the back of his neck._

_“I should never have doubted you, Guinevere,” he mumbled against her shoulder._

_She smiled and ran her fingers through his soft blonde hair. “As long as you don’t doubt me now.”_

_He lifted his head to meet her gaze again, and she was struck by the love and trust in his eyes. Whatever doubts either of them had harboured following their reunion had dissipated, and Gwen had not thought it possible, but she loved him more than ever._

_He gave her no verbal response, but his passionate kiss was all the answer she needed._

 

 

Gwen wiped away a tear at the memory, and hugged a pillow close to her chest. The memory was potent, but it could not fill the silence of the room, or empty space in the bed beside her. Nor did they help ease her into slumber, for the room was too quiet and her loneliness too heavy.   

 

Once, she’d hated his snoring - now, it seemed, she could not sleep without it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That same sense of malaise hung over Gwen for several days. There were endless meetings at the Round Table with her council and for hours they discussed the logistics of legalising magic – how it should be announced, what exactly they were legalising, to draw a line between light magic and dark and what the punishments would be. They were making progress, but the long days and often sleepless nights were taking their toll on Gwen.

 

Her only comfort was in the evenings, when she would share a meal with Merlin and Gaius in her quarters. It made her smile to see Merlin fidget at the table, so unused to being served and Gwen was reminded of her own first days as queen, uncomfortable sitting at the table rather than standing against the wall.

 

“You almost seem like you miss being a manservant,” she teased him after she’d dismissed the servants so they could talk privately.

 

Merlin laughed and shrugged. “No,” he told her. “But it was easier, sometimes,” he admitted. “I didn’t have to be the one answering all the questions then.”

 

The council session had been gruelling, with Sir Ector and Sir Bedivere especially giving Merlin a hard time and demanding explanations from him. Gwen sympathised, for she had also gone from quiet confidant who had given Arthur advice to the person who the others looked to for leadership.

 

“It does have its perks, though,” Merlin continued more cheerily, tucking in to his chicken leg with gusto.

 

“Yes, it is rather nice to have quarters to myself again,” Gaius spoke up warmly. “Peace and quiet at last.”

 

Gwen could not surpress a smile and Merlin reacted with mock offence. “You get peace and quiet?” he joked. “After ten years, I no longer have to block out your snoring!”

 

That sobered Gwen slightly, and her mind once again dwelled on Arthur and the thought that he should be at the table, sharing the meal and joking with them.

 

“Gwen, are you alright?” Gaius lay a comforting hand on her arm..

 

“I’m fine,” she forced a smile, but even to her own ears she was unconvincing. She looked down at her untouched dinner, and then at the empty chair at the end of the table none of them would dare sit in. “What do you think Avalon is like?” she asked, turning back to them. “Do you think Arthur can…see us?”

 

Gaius patted her arm gently. “The mysteries of the spirit worlds are revealed only to those who enter them, and Avalon is the most sacred of them all,” he told her.   “But there are always windows between the worlds, and so their inhabitants are all connected with us still, in some way.”

 

“I have been to the gates of Avalon,” Merlin imparted with an unusually solemn expression. “There are ways to contact those on the other side – we could try.”

 

Gwen felt a flutter of hope at the thought of, perhaps, seeing Arthur again. They had said their goodbyes at Camlann, but she would give anything to see him one last time. And yet…she knew that she would always want to see him one last time, that she would not be able to stop herself from drifting towards him in death and as a result she may lose herself in life. And that was no way to run a kingdom, it would not be fair the people she was duty-bound to protect. She would long for him always, but knew that she must find her solace in memory only. And, perhaps, in the child she was carrying.

 

“No,” she told them, and shook her head, wiping a tear that had escaped onto her cheek. “I can’t.”

 

“I think that is wise, Gwen,” Gaius smiled at her comfortingly. “And for what it is worth, I do believe Arthur is watching over us.”

 

“He is,” Merlin added with confidence. “I know he is.”

 

Reassured, Gwen took both of their hands in silent thanks. They were her family, as they always had been, but Gwen felt closer to them both than ever before. She knew that together, they would build the world Arthur had dreamed of, a kingdom of justice and valor that would be a beacon for the generations to come; a world fit for her child to be raised in.

 


End file.
